I'm slowly taking the Christmas ornaments down. REALLY slowly. At the rate I'm going, they will all be down in June. I'm trying to shame Jonny into helping me. The kids are firmly against the undecorating project. I feel like the Grinch. "Mommy, why? Why are you taking down the candles? Why are you taking down the lights? I want them to stay up!"
Dylan has reached a DELIGHTFUL age. It gives me hope for Conrad. He's demonstrating an almost pathological need to be helpful, both at home and at school. He's also reading pretty fluently now, so I have to be careful what I write on my to-do list ("wash the fucking laundry"), but he's passed that tentative phase and moved on to the part where they read any words they can find.
When asked what he wanted for Christmas this year, he told Santa that he wanted a fishing pole and a belt. A belt? we inquired. Yes, a belt. Brown on one side and black on the other, just like Daddy's. I think he's worn the belt every single day since he got it. He also got his fishing pole (as did Conrad, who was pretty underwhelmed with the idea of fishing) and now I have to figure out where (and when, and how) to use it.
The other night he heard me venting to Jonny about work and the lack of money, and he disappeared into his room and retrieved all the money from the "Donate" section of his piggy-bank and brought it out to me to donate to work. "Don't try to give it back," he told me. So freaking sweet. Karen wrote him a thank you note for his $1.35.
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